Signatures and Surprises
by starry19
Summary: 5x04 Tag "She was still staring at the sign when Jane came around to open her door. He held out a hand. "Coming? You're going to love this, I promise." He had a childlike innocence around him, wanting to give her a surprise he thought she'd enjoy. And it was impossible to resist him."


**A/N: **Here's another one I wasn't going to tag, but I woke up this morning with it half written in my head already. Who am I to thwart my subconscious?

Love you all for reviewing!

On a side note: I was watching The Crimson Ticket yesterday, and Lisbon, when talking about Lorelei, says to Jane: "she's practically the first person since your wife that you've..." The part that jumped out at me during the premiere and then again yesterday was the _practically_ part. I have many theories here, one being that I need to sleep more. But does anyone remember when they did an origin ep on Bones? I don't know if I'm hoping for that or not... Okay, too many notes, on to actual words.

**Disclaimer: ** Not mine. The end.

**Signatures and Surprises **

"Are you finished yet?" Jane asked from his perch on her desk. Lisbon swore that was the only thing the man had done today - drink tea and peer down at her paperwork, pausing occasionally to mock her.

"No," she said slowly, as though she was explaining to a child. "I think Rigsby would like to get back to work on Monday, so I need to finish his reinstatement forms."

"Hm," he said, expression so contemplative that she felt immediate worry. Jane thinking too hard let to troubles for everyone. "What do you have to do?"

She gestured at the stacks of paper. "Basically, look over all of this and sign on the bottom lines." She paused. "Of every _single_ sheet."

"Well, that's not a problem," he said, thoughtful gaze clearing. He grabbed half of the carbon-copied stack and one of her pens before retreating to the table.

Before she could say a word, he was industriously scribbling on a sheet.

"Jane!" she practically shrieked, jumping up from her chair. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you," he said innocently. "Just like you requested earlier."

"I don't consider you forging my name on official documents to be particularly helpful!"

He didn't look up. "Calm yourself, woman. It's not like this is the first time I've signed for you. I'm quite good at it."

She stared at his bowed head, mouth slightly agape. "You've forged my signature before? _For what?" _

He smiled, finally meeting her eyes. "Do you really want to know? I promise it was nothing bad."

"Jane, if it was nothing bad, you would have given me the papers to sign in the first place." Truly, though, she didn't even want to _think_ about what she had probably authorized. Several possibilities had sprung to mind already, each of them more unpleasant than the last.

"Meh," he told her. "Maybe you were just in the field and I decided not to wait."

She opened her mouth, as though to speak, but closed it again. Sometimes there was no point in arguing with a man who refused to think anything he did was wrong.

He made a "shoo" gesture. "Go sit and sign your forms. Or are you going to make me do those, too? Honestly, Lisbon, I don't appreciate you pushing all your work off on me."

There were several comments she could have made, but sensing futility, she did as directed, pausing occasionally to shoot suspicious glances across her office where Jane was working harder than she could ever remember.

The only sound in her office was the scratching of pens and the rustling of paper as they signed in silence. Finishing her last signature with a bit of a flourish, she stacked the forms and pushed back her chair, only to find Jane looking at her, his paperwork already completed.

He had been in a weird mood today, she thought. Well, weirder than normal, considering it _was_ Jane. Maybe he was just worried about Rigsby. They all had been horribly on edge all day.

She had given up on making Cho and Grace do anything and had retreated to her office, attempting to lose herself in paperwork.

Predictably, Jane had followed, abandoning his preferred spot on her couch to sit on the edge of her desk. Having him that close was definitely distracting, but she had enjoyed every second of it.

Of course, that had probably been his intention - distracting her. Or maybe he had been distracting himself.

"Are you done _now_?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, "or are you going to dredge up some more useless forms from some secret filing cabinet?"

She stared right back. "Why are you suddenly so concerned with my paperwork backlog, Jane?"

He stood abruptly, setting his forms on her desk, and reaching behind her to grab her blazer. "Because you are getting out of this office at a reasonable time tonight, my dear." He grabbed her hand and tugged. "Up, Lisbon. We have things to do."

"We do?" she asked, sliding her arms into the jacket Jane was holding out.

"Absolutely," he told her. "It's time you get a life. All this time at work is bad for your health."

"Uh, Jane?" She grabbed her keys and preceded him out the door. "Have you looked in the mirror? I don't think I'm the only one who has some trouble getting out the office door."

He smiled, waiting for her to turn the key in the lock. "Fair enough, which is why we are _both_ leaving."

"Yes, but where are we _going?_"

His grinned widened as he ushered her down the hall towards the elevator, hand resting on her back. "Where's the fun in me telling you? Enjoy the spontaneity, Lisbon."

"Have I mentioned how much I hate surprises?" she wanted to know.

"Yes, but I was carefully not listening to you. It's nonsense, anyway. Everyone likes surprises." He was lightly flirting with her, and despite her trepidation, she was beginning to look forward to whatever he had planned. Besides, he was at least planning on spending part of the evening with her, an evening that would hopefully be totally free of homicides.

There were definitely worse things.

She didn't complain when he insisted on driving. Instead, she merely said a brief, silent prayer that he didn't hit anything, because she was sure Jane's car would crumple like a pop can if he so much as ran over a squirrel.

He didn't say a word as he drove, occasionally giving her a smiling glance. This was her favorite Jane- playful, lighthearted, flirtatious, especially when he was directing his attentions at her. It was easy to pretend that there was something more than friendship behind his eyes, particularly after days like today.

Her lips turned up when she remembered how he had jumped to her defense in front of La Roche. Taking the blame, subtly reminding the man that Jane knew his secrets. The fact the he really _didn't_ made no difference. Patrick Jane offering to fall on the proverbial sword was something she didn't see very much of.

"You know, the last time I saw La Roche, he gave me a hug," she remarked off-handedly, staring out the window. "Today he was back to being Super Professional Standards Man."

Jane laughed. "Maybe you should make _him_ a costume, since you're apparently not making me one." He took a breath. "Don't let him worry you. The only thing he said was that you care about your team."

"He implied that I make bad decisions because of it."

He pulled a scornful expression. "To borrow one of your favorite phrases, that's sheep dip, Lisbon. You make _better_ decisions because you care. It probably makes you more cautious in dangerous situations, and it certainly makes your team better."

"How?" she asked, turning towards him.

"You've set a good example," he told her. "Every person in SCU knows that you would lie to protect them, that you would do anything you could to help them, including sacrificing your career. They feel the same about you. They know that they're safe in their unit, that they can trust each other. It makes them better cops."

_What about you?_ She wanted to ask the question, but held back. In the mood he was in, there was no telling what sort of answer Jane would throw out.

At that moment, he pulled up in front of a diner straight out of the 1950s. She had never been there before, although the neighborhood was vaguely familiar.

She sat across from Jane in the molded plastic chairs, admiring the vintage feel of the place. In his three-piece suit, Jane fit right in. And, in typical fashion, he ordered eggs.

"Eggs are still breakfast food," she told him, sipping her water.

"They're only breakfast food if you eat them for breakfast," he argued back, fingers wrapped around his mug of tea. "Besides, this place makes the best eggs in the city. Perfect," he said, closing his eyes in an expression of ecstasy, free hand elaborately punctuating the air.

"I'm curious, Jane," she said. "Do you spend your nights going from diner to diner, trying their eggs to see if they live up to your God-like expectations?"

He laughed, moving his arms aside to accommodate the waitress making her way towards them. "Sometimes," he said with a wink. "Eat quickly," he added, gesturing to her plate. "We have somewhere to be."

She blinked. Dinner with Jane wasn't an unusual thing, or at least it hadn't been before he'd left for Vegas. They'd been out once or twice since his return, always at Jane's insistence. He was trying to smooth over the cracks in their relationship, and she was willing to let him.

But they had never done more than dinner, with the exception of the night they had gone to the cabaret show, but that was more than a little work related.

"Mind telling me where we're going?" she asked, spearing part of a potato.

"Yes," he said, and ate his forkful of eggs. "Delicious," he murmured, mouth full.

Jane insisted on paying their bill, but gave into her demands that she leave the tip. They got back in his car, both relaxed from their meal. There was a slight air of anticipation, though; Jane had a surprise that he was eager to share with her. It was difficult to not be a little eager; he didn't do things half way. She needed to look no further than her birthday a few years ago for proof of that.

Really, who buys a pony? Patrick Jane, of course.

He drove to the old part of Sacramento, populated by houses with peeling paint and tiny, hole-in-the-wall bars. "Am I allowed to know where we're going yet?" she asked once, sticking her bottom lip out with a little petulance.

"Nope," he said easily. "Trust me, you want to be surprised."

Jane stopped the car in front of a dimly lit building. The hand-painted sign above the awning declared the place to be named Old Souls. It was impossible to tell what was going on inside.

She was still staring at the sign when Jane came around to open her door. He held out a hand. "Coming? You're going to love this, I promise." He had a childlike innocence around him, wanting to give her a surprise he thought she'd enjoy. And it was impossible to resist him.

He kept her hand as they walked in the door of what turned out to be a small club, done in dark colors and lit by small candles on the tables. Surprisingly, the place was packed, people milling around everywhere. A small crowd was blocking the bottom half of a sign declaring tonight to be Live Jazz Night, obscuring her view of who the featured artist was.

Jane caught her looking at the sign. "Close your eyes," he said immediately.

"What?" She turned back to him.

"Do it," he said. "I don't want you to ruin the best part of the night."

"Jane, I think I really need to see. We're still standing in the door."

"Trust me," he said for the second time that night, clearly waiting for her to follow his directions.

"Oh, what the hell?" she muttered, and closed her eyes. She immediately felt Jane's other hand settle on her waist.

"And off we go," he said in her ear, the pressure of his hands guiding her through the crowd. She hadn't been this close to Jane since they had danced at that class reunion. He had hugged her fiercely tight before shooting her, but that was desperate Jane, not the playful man who stood behind her now.

"More to the right," he murmured. His voice sent shivers down her spine. She could feel the heat from his body and it was distracting. More distracting than him sitting on her desk for hours, or flirting with her over dinner.

Robbed of her sight, her other senses were suddenly overcompensating. She could smell the slightly smoky aroma of the club, hear the voices of the other patrons, feel the press of Jane's individual fingers, both around her hand and at her waist.

"Alright, you're safe from surprise-ending signs," he told her eventually, and she opened her eyes. They were standing in the very back of the club next to a corner booth, illuminated by a single tea light. He motioned her in, and flagged down a waiter to order drinks.

"How do you even know I like jazz?" she asked, once she had his attention back.

He smiled. "I've seen your CD collection, remember?"

The music started then, smooth and liquid, and there was nothing left to do but to lean against the half-back of the booth and drink her scotch.

Jane was sitting close, close enough that their legs kept brushing. After the fourth time it happened, she began to suspect it was intentional.

Maybe it was the atmosphere of the club, or the music, or the drinks that kept appearing, but she was feeling almost giggly by the time the emcee announced their feature act.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have a real treat for you this evening," the man was saying into a stand microphone. "Our final performer took several years off and went down some winding roads, but he's made his way back, and we are thrilled to have him. I am absolutely elated to introduce..." He paused for effect. "The legendary Willie Schubert!"

Lisbon was too stunned to clap, although Jane applauded enthusiastically. She turned to stare at him. "How did you know?" she demanded.

He smiled. "What, you think no one told me about all the time you spent trying to get his name cleared from that murder charge?"

She shook her head slowly. "This is unbelievable."

The first notes of the saxophone made their way to her ears, and her eyes were drawn back to the stage. Willie Schubert was almost unrecognizable as the homeless man she had brought into headquarters over a year ago. She _did_ however, recognize the beat-up instrument he was playing.

Jane leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Aren't you glad I didn't tell you what the surprise was?"

She turned to look at him again, their faces very close. In that moment, she knew her heart was in her eyes, but there wasn't a thing she could do about it. "Thank you," she whispered, very softly. There was no way he could have heard the words, but he winked and smiled, draping his arm over the short back of the booth.

Although he wasn't touching her, it felt like he was, and she was very conscious of absolutely every time he moved.

As far as Jane-surprises went, this was definitely a cut above the rest.

When the music ended, she clapped as loudly as anyone, surreptitiously blinking back a few tears. And, of course, no one would have ever noticed the gesture except Jane.

Instead of calling her out, however, he rested his arm across her shoulders and squeezed lightly. Impulsively, she kissed his cheek.

His lips turned up. "And, this, Lisbon, is why you need to get out of the office more. Was paperwork more important than seeing this?" He gestured at the club with his free hand.

"No," she said firmly. "But tell anyone I said that and I'll shoot you."

He laughed out loud then, affectionately pulling her closer for what passed as a hug. "I'll take it to the grave," he promised.

As they drove back, she stared out the window at the city lights. Jane had outdone himself tonight, proving again that he was willing to go to a lot of trouble to make her smile. She wondered what his next surprise would be.

And, as much as she hated surprises, she found she couldn't wait.

Because it was a Jane surprise, and that made all the difference.


End file.
